


Around the bend

by Subtle_Shenanigans



Series: To Wander [6]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Blind Character, Companionship, Drabble, Gen, Meeting Strangers, The mode of speech isn’t anything particular, do not repost to another site, mother is a title, next up: town, no beta we die like men, old lady in the woods - Freeform, she’s supposed to be motherly but not southern necessarily, wandering, yknow?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:15:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26059342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Subtle_Shenanigans/pseuds/Subtle_Shenanigans
Summary: The Wanderer meets Ol’ Mother in the woods.
Series: To Wander [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1725868
Kudos: 1





	Around the bend

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so before we start, I am taking advice from posts - one about blind people and another about people of color. While I have never written a blind person, I have written a person of color a few times, but did not describe them as so, which is on me. So it will be mentioned in here, not over-the-top, but noticeably. 
> 
> If any of you reading are blind (I’m assuming using text-to-voice, I believe it’s called?) or a person of color, and I have written the character in a harmful or offensive light, please let me know I have and how I can correct it. Thank you!

“Well now, who goes there?”

They’re coming up around the bend, cub at their heals. At first they can’t find the owner of the voice, until a hand waves from amongst the shaded trees beside the path.

It’s a woman, older than most people Ander meets, but not the oldest they’ve encountered. She sits in the shade, skin as dark as the shaded tree bark, blending in amongst the scenery. The chair she sits in is wooden, sorta ramshackle make, and the grass licks past the woman’s ankles.

The Wanderer knows danger, and this is no danger, so they take a step off of the path towards her. “I’m The Wanderer.”

“Of course you are,” she chuckles. “You c’n call me Ol’ Mother - that’s what everyone in the town calls me.”

They’re pulled from studying the woman’s house, a homely thing further back in the shadows of the trees. “Town?” Ander takes another step closer. “How far?”

“Now hold on, traveller, le’ me get a look at you - I don’t want to send no trouble to those good folks.”

Rising from the chair and grabbing some sort of staff, Ander realizes she’s blind. Her eyes flicker and move but don’t focus, and she taps around with her staff, taking her time to move forward. At one point she missed something - a rock or a root - and stumbles, but catches herself neatly with her staff.

Her teeth gleam as she smiles. “More capable then you thought, huh?”

“Certainly,” they acquiesce, leaving a hand out for her to take but not forcing it. She reaches out, seeking them, and finding the hand nods.

“Now I’m gonna get a look at you, okay?”

They nod, then remember. “That’s fine.”

Mother’s hand skirts up their arm, their neck, and to their face. With her other hand she presses her staff towards The Wanderer, who takes it, as Mother adds her other hand, to see their face.

She hums, as she feels across their cheeks and their forehead; they close their eyes as her fingers skirt across; winces a little as she accidentally catches a curl and tugs, when looking at their hair.

(It draws their eyes to her own hair, thickset, but closer to the skull, with the tiniest, tightest curls they’d ever seen. She wonders if it bounces, like their own, but doesn’t ask.)

Eventually, she leans back, hand out for the staff. “My cane, traveller.”

They pass back the cane and she leans on it.  
  
“Well then, you don’t seem like no trouble after all.” She points down the road with her cane. “Two days further, there’s a town called Ramshackle. My son, Logan lives there as a wood carver. If’n you need shelter, I’m sure he’ll provide. Jus’ tell him his Ol’ Mother sent you. If’n he needs further proof, his full face name is Loganberry, got it.”

Ander nods, though it’s unnecessary. “Thank you, I appreciate it.”

“No problem, hun. Oh! Hello little feller.” The Fox cub runs up and twines around the woman’s legs. She reaches down, slowly, and gives him a few scritches under the chin. “You two take cate of each other now.”

Ander huffs a laugh. “Will do, ma’am. C’mon cub,” they scoop him up, giving him scratches before he whines, “once again, thank you.”

The old woman straightens herself up, and starts going back to her seat. “No problem, and none of that ma’am stuff. You come by and visit this Ol’ Mother anytime, Wanderer. Anytime.”

They set out, waving uselessly, as she is herself waving, vowing to visit again in hopes the woman is still alive next time they come this way.

**Author's Note:**

> That last bit is not meant to be bleak. It’s just. . .this world is post-devastation, sorta like Breath Of The Wild, but further in time, so it’s more of a realistic view, especially since Ander travels a lot.


End file.
